


Four Times Simon Tam Was Bitten By the Little Green Monster (and one time he wasn’t)

by Dustbunnygirl



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustbunnygirl/pseuds/Dustbunnygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Title: </b>Four Times Simon Tam Was Bitten By the Little Green Monster (and one time he wasn’t)<br/><b>Characters/Pairings: </b>Simon Tam (Firefly/Serenity), hints of Simon/Kaylee<br/><b>Summary: </b>He learned a long time ago, though, that logic doesn’t really exist in the real world anymore.<br/><b>Rating: </b> PG-13, with #3 possibly edging slightly toward R territory.<br/><b>Disclaimer:</b> I don’t own Firefly/Serenity/the Greatness of Joss. Quite the opposite: Joss owns me.<br/><b>Warnings: </b>Spoilers for “Firefly” and Serenity. Number 3 is slightly naughty. The rest are either silly or angsty with an emphasis on angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Simon Tam Was Bitten By the Little Green Monster (and one time he wasn’t)

****

1\. 

Simon Tam is the unhappiest little boy on Osiris.

This isn’t common. The pout stuck firmly on his ten-year-old face is as rare as grass stains on the knees of his pants. There may be contemplative frowns, deeply thoughtful stares, even – to the delight of his sister and the horror of his parents – the occasional wicked grin. But pouts, where his bottom lip protrudes a good inch from beneath the top one and his arms are crossed firmly over his chest, are almost unheard of. He is far too smart, far too well-behaved, and far too serious a child to give in to such things.

Which is what makes the tantrum brewing just beneath his skin all the more upsetting.

He was the smartest child in his neighborhood - in his city! - for years. All the other parents pointed to him on the street, in the playground, outside the school and said to their own children, “Why can’t you be more like that Simon Tam?” His mother and father preened under the awe and envy of the other parents and, thus, doted on him. Even River - brilliant, bright-eyed River - smiled up at him with sisterly wonder. 

Until today. Until the mail arrived and his mother opened the flat white envelope from the city testing center. 

“Gabriel!” His mother had shouted. “Gabriel, come here!” There was a barely contained excitement in the half-shrieked beckon, in the tight grip his mother had on the letter. His father had come in, concerned for a moment before the correspondence was thrust into his hands. And that’s when Simon’s orderly little world went upside down.

“Oh, Simon, look!” His mother waved the single sheet at him, grinning with absolute glee. Among the demographics and statistics and jargon was a simple set of numbers that instantly tinted Simon’s world a harsh, ugly green, even before his mother put voice to the horror. “River scored three points higher than you did when you were tested!”

He immediately begins calculating how much he could likely get for his sister, should he decide to sell her to the closest roving band of gypsies. She’s now the smartest child in the city; that has to be worth something to somebody.

It was to him.

****

2\. 

Chance is a funny thing. Usually funny for somebody else, some outside person looking in instead of the person caught up in it, but it’s still funny. By someone’s definition. Not by Simon’s, but most people never asked for his definition of anything anyway.

Chance puts them back on Persephone. A repeat client for Inara, a supply run for Kaylee, a possible job for Mal and Zoe to check into. An hour, maybe two at the most, before saying goodbye to terra firma again and dipping deep into the big, expansive black. Simon only agreed to tag along with Kaylee because River wanted to get out for a bit -

(That’s his excuse. Has nothing to do with wanting to spend time with Kaylee outside the careful confines of on-board etiquette. ) 

\- and he has to admit the fresh air would do her (and him) good. 

Chance - or in this case, a wayward River - leads them down a street that isn’t on their itinerary. The shops here are a bit pricier, a bit more exclusive. Kaylee pauses more than once to stare longingly in a window, captivated by a dress or a pair of shoes or some shiny and utterly impractical bauble. 

(Girls like impractical things, River will tell him later, showing a moment of tact he is grateful for)

It’s either chance or the ‘verse’s worst luck that they stop in front of that specific window, drawn by a dress with so many frills and lacy bits that Simon has a hard time imagining any woman actually wearing it, least of all Kaylee. As they stand there - Kaylee daydreaming, River making faces at her reflection - Simon swears he catches the flash of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head fully toward the cause in time to catch the profile of a young man about his age but a good four inches taller with expertly coiffed blonde hair. Recognition comes from the imperial tilt of the other man’s chin and the long, slightly crooked slope of his nose. I broke that nose, Simon thinks with grim satisfaction. More satisfying is that it never did set straight.

John Davies. Just digging the name out of the recesses of his mind brings a muttered curse.

“What is it?” Kaylee asks, looking away from the dress with a worried frown.

It’s not seeing John that bothers Simon. That animosity got left behind a long time ago, when the title “Doctor” was still a goal to be achieved, not something hard won, and then set aside. The competitiveness, the superiority, the overinflated ego ceased to matter even before he’d finished medical school. It’s what seeing him there - right there, in that store, in his expensive suit, with his expensively-adorned wife hanging off his arm as he rifles through a handful of credits - represents. 

It’s what Simon gave up without a second thought. And for a moment - a brief, painful moment - he can remember what it all feels like. Not the success. Not the trophy wife. The normalcy. And he’d give anything to break Davies’ nose all over again in that second, as the realization of just how impossible normal will ever be again sinks back in.

“Nothing,” he answers, sharply turning his head away from Davies and the store and everything it reminds him of. “I just remembered I forgot to put some instruments away before we left.”

Kaylee shakes her head before grabbing his arm to pull him away from the window. “They’ll still be there when you get back,” she says in that tone that makes everything he said prior to it sound absolutely silly. “Come on. I think if we take the right up ahead, we’ll still find the shop before it closes.”

Simon turns to reach for River’s hand. The last thing they need now is to lose her again. Her head is cocked to one side, eyes boring gently, deeply into his. For a second, he wonders what it is she sees. But then she grabs his hand and Kaylee yanks the other one hard to get him to keep up and the moment passes.

****

3\. 

There are parts of Serenity Simon avoids, either because he’s got no reason to be there - the bridge, for starters, unless summoned - or because he has no desire to be there - anywhere Jayne is, more often than not, and typically vice versa he’s sure. Then there are places he shouldn’t go, for safety’s sake or to spare his own sanity - also anywhere Jayne is, coincidentally, for the most part.

The engine room is one of the last sorts. 

It’s not just because there are a hundred different motors or gears or chugging things he doesn’t know enough about to keep from losing a finger or a hand or a whole arm with a misstep or an ill-conceived lean. It’s not even the dangling wires and exposed circuits just waiting for someone to trip and grab one of them in a fit of self-preservation and electrocute one’s self instead. It’s not his safety he’s worried about.

It’s this: Kaylee, crouched in front of an open instrument panel, fingers weaving through the wires and cords in search of just the one that’s making something rattle as it shouldn’t or has the tenor of Serenity’s constant hum just one note off pitch. Kaylee’s hands trailing over the engine’s contours, feeling out the minute vibrations that would indicate a loose bolt or a plug that needs to be replaced with a touch that’s almost a caress. She bites her lip in concentration as her fingers soothe the patchwork metal, whispering “That’s all right, girl, shhh, just let me take care of you,” in a voice soft enough to be a coo. 

Her grin is slow, languid, when she finds the problem; pleased in a way that shouldn’t be as enticing, as arousing, as it is to Simon, standing in the doorway, watching. She reaches blindly for a wrench on the floor behind her. There’s nothing but tenderness in the way she slides the tool into the engine’s delicate workings, in the hand that still pets and gentles the outer casing. 

“Now I promise this won’t hurt a bit,” she says. The engine sputters. At least that covers the gulp Simon can’t stop.

Kaylee grips the wrench with both hands after she’s latched on to the part in need of tightening. Her arms strain as she pushes on the hefty lever, tries to bend the offending bit to her will. When she growls out a breathy “So tight!”, Simon’s knees almost buckle. 

“That’s it,” she purrs as the bolt starts to turn. Beads of sweat form on her forehead and her arms start to shake. His knees empathize. They’re little more than Jell-o as it is. 

“Come on. Little bit further.” He shifts on his feet, a warm rush of heat spreading outward from a hundred different points at once and each one of them on a straight line between his face and his groin. 

“Oh, right there. Just like that.” Simon has the strongest urge to bury his nose in the damp curls at the back of her neck and lick a hot line from the collar of her coveralls to her hairline just to watch her shiver.

“Don’t stop! Almost there.” His hands are fisted tightly at his sides. If he doesn’t hold them just that way, he’s going to make a right fool of himself.

“Almost…yes! Oh, yes!” Kaylee leans heavily against the engine’s casing for a moment, shaking one arm and patting the hulking slab of metal and gears with the other. The pleased smile is back, parted by a sigh. “That’s my girl. That’s my good girl.”

Simon looks down and gets a look at the state he’s in. There’s really only one course of action. He turns and runs. He can’t remember what he was there for anyway. 

As he said, bad for his sanity. Because you have to be absolutely mad to be jealous of a gorram ship.

****

4\. 

He thinks he’s been so careful.

Keeps the longing off his face when he watches how free the others can be, when he catches sight of Kaylee across the room and dares to think of the what if’s. He’s perfected a mask of professional detachment, a mask he rarely lets crack even into a smile, except for his sister. For River, he can smile. It’s the least he can do for her. It’s all he can do for her, it seems.

Simon is sure he’s buried the tiny gnawing feeling of resentment - and the guilt that comes with it - so far down nobody could find it. Looking at him, you’d never know how there are days he would gladly trade places with River if it meant lightening the weight on his shoulders even a fraction of a bit. Looking at him, you’d never know that, in the darkest of his moments, he thinks of the life he left behind and how he’s destroyed any possibility of getting it back and wonders if any of it was really worth it.

He thinks he’s been so careful. 

_I don’t belong. Dangerous, like you. Can’t be controlled. Can’t be trusted._

But he forgot one thing.

_Everyone could just go on without me and not have to worry._

His sister…

_People could be who they wanted to be, could be with the people they wanted._

…reads minds.

It’s late when he finds her, not that day looks any different than night out in the black. Past time for good little girls (some day he will realize she’s not a little girl anymore) to be in bed. She’s not in her room, not in any quarters at all. When he tracks her down she’s in the dining room, curled up beneath the table with her blanket. This is why he has such a hard time remembering. Times like these, she’s still the hero-worshiping six year old that followed him everywhere and jumped at every crack of thunder.

“River,” he says, crouching by the table. He’s cautious as he reaches a hand out to gently shake her shoulder, surprised when she only jerks awake and recoils from the touch instead of sitting up and screaming. 

“Simon.” Simple word, single word, and it takes several seconds of her eyes darting around the room, reminding herself where she is and that no one is here to hurt her. That Simon is here and will protect her.

_I didn’t think you’d come for me._

“Is there something wrong with your bed tonight?” River shakes her head, short, sharp little movements that are almost emphatic. “Then why are you sleeping on the kitchen floor?”

“It’s quiet.”

Simon smiles. “Do I snore?” River shakes her head again, the same quick motion as before, and his smile slips into a worried frown. “Then what was keeping you up, mei-mei?”

River lifts one hand and taps the side of his head with a long, elegant finger. “Just keep thinking. Thinking, thinking, never stop. Your apologies won’t let me sleep.”

“I’m sor-“ A hand comes quick over Simon’s mouth, stifling the rest of the word. He reaches for the hand, tries to pull it away with a light tug on River’s wrist, and it doesn’t budge. He forgets sometimes how much strength there is in this one small girl.

“You don’t have to be.” For a second, there is such clear lucidity in River’s eyes, a focus Simon hasn’t seen there since the day she left for the Academy. It almost startles him. “You don’t have to worry about me so much, Simon.”

When he tugs at her wrist this time, her hand slips away easily. He tugs it again and straightens slowly, urging River out from beneath the table by the gentle pull. She comes without resistance, blanket and all, and leans into his side. As he guides her down the hallway, he rests his cheek against the top of her head. 

“Yes I do.”

He hasn’t been half as careful as he thought. 

****

5\. 

No one speaks. The only sounds are the wind and the steady breathing of the six people gathered. Once in awhile, the breathing is broken by a half-choked sob or a discrete sniffle. Sometimes, the sniffles aren’t so discrete and the sobs aren’t so choked. Sometimes, the grief overwhelms the silence.

Simon has too much to do here to let his grief overwhelm him. Has to keep an eye on everybody, look for signs of fatigue that shouldn’t be there, blood leaking through bandages, through clothes. They’re all broken, as much outside as inside, and he’s responsible for every bit of the outside hurt no matter how broken he is himself. Has to keep an eye on River especially, because he can’t let himself trust that any of this has fixed her at all. Can’t dare hope. Has to keep an eye on Kaylee, because her soul’s too gentle for this kind of loss, no matter what she says. 

But he’s watching Zoe. Watching her and wondering how she manages to keep breathing when he knows her heart is buried right down there with Wash. It stopped beating the same moment her husband’s had and every bit of medical knowledge in his head - the same knowledge that’s cataloging how the Captain leans to keep his weight off that leg, or the way Kaylee rubs at the point the dart sunk into her skin because the skin is still tender and bruised - tells him how impossible it is for a body to function when its heart has stopped. 

He learned a long time ago, though, that logic doesn’t really exist in the real world anymore.

As Zoe bends to light the rocket, Simon looks away, finds Kaylee and refuses to look away until her eyes lift up to find his. His smile lacks a lot, as smiles go, but he’s aiming for empathy more than joy anyway. Hers, like his, is the resigned smile of a man led to the gallows. To love is to lose and that’s the sick, sad truth of it. They both know it. And it still won’t stop them. 

Despite how shallow it sounds in his head, he’s glad it was Zoe’s luck that ran out instead of his. And he hates himself for it the second it’s out of his head.


End file.
